


Ineffable Pining

by Traillbits



Category: Broadchurch, Fright Night (2011), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Prodigal Son (TV 2019), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Underworld (Movies)
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Drabble Collection, God Plays Matchmaker, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Multi-Era, Multiverse, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traillbits/pseuds/Traillbits
Summary: Angels and Demons were made up of the same stock, and sometimes not all of it gets used up. God was not a being known to to be wasteful. And after all, when one has leftover stock in the pot, it shouldn't just be thrown away if it can reused, now should it?A series of drabbles in a multiverse of Tennant character/Sheen character shipping!
Relationships: Aro (Twilight)/Peter Vincent, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Bartemius Crouch Jr./Lucian (Underworld), Martin Whitly/Alec Hardy
Comments: 47
Kudos: 98





	1. An Angel, a Vampire Hunter, and a Book

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale sees a familiar face when a customer with occult interest walks into the bookshop.

It's said that angels and demons exist, this is in fact true and had for several millenia since the universe came to be. More precisely angels and fallen angels that decided they wanted a fancier name existed.  
So naturally demons and angels are made from the same stock of course and still share even the smallest of similarities despite being deemed enemies. 

It can also be said that some humans share leaked qualities. Human beings, like angels and subsequently demons, are also of God's making. All of Her creations made up of different recipes, it was only a matter of what went into the pot. And sometimes a sprinkle of angelic zest found its way into a human's genes, even those whom had Fallen. 

God was not a being known to to be wasteful. And after all, when one has leftover stock in the pot, it shouldn't just be thrown away if it can reused, now should it?

\--

Aziraphale looked as though he had seen, well a ghost wasn't really the right term. But he had a just as bewildered looked all the same. 

"My dear, you look absolutely disheveled!" Aziraphale said exasperated. 

Crowley had what the angel considered to be-forgive the irony-a devil may care sense of style. But his hair was rumpled, and never in their six thousand years had Aziraphale seen Crowley wear denim that was anything but black. 

"Really I understand you're a demon but-" He was about to straighten him up a little bit before he turned around.

"Oi! The fuck do you think you're doing?!" The not Crowley but very Crowley like human scowled. 

His hand swatted away, Aziraphale paused. "Oh, oh I'm terribly sorry sir! It's just..."

The angel could now see that this man was not in fact Crowley. But, he did sound and in certain ways look so much like the demon. 

The rumpled hair was brown and darker than Crowley's flaming copper locks. Obvious the mortal did not have yellow slit serpent eyes, but much softer human ones. Even if there was a layer of eyeliner coated around them.

Peter was feeling uncomfortable with the way the shop owner kept staring at him. 

But something felt off about more than just the alarmed look he wore. 

The way those clear blue eyes looked at him, he looked so familiar and different.

Peter shook his head, "Nevermind it."

Aziraphale nodded with a wiggle. "Jolly good then. Need help with anything, just give a holler and I'll-"

"Actually I'm all set with this." Peter said, waving a large leather bound book in his hand. 

He passed it to Aziraphale, whom took out a pair of pocketed glasses. 

"'Origin of Vampiric Species and Occult Clans'" Aziraphale read, the tome dated back at least a thousand years worth of supernatural accounts. "A fan of a little light reading?"

Peter shrugged, "An interest of mine."

"It is rather expensive, I trust you realize?" 

The human frowned, "I'm not stupid, I saw the price tag."

Aziraphale felt insecure when customers wanted to buy his books, even more when they had actually had the money for the overpriced tomes. They were overpriced solely so they could stay in shop. 

And so the next words that left Aziraphale's mouth were a first never once uttered in the bookshop. 

"Righto then, I'll ring you up." The angel said with a nervous smile. 

\--

Peter was awoken by arms wrapped around him and cool to the touch hands resting against his bare abdomen. 

"Our flight leaves within the next two hours dearest, you must get up if you wish to return to Las Vegas." Aro smiled 

Peter groaned burying his face deeper into the pillow. "Go away..."

The ancient chuckled, "Afraid I'm not going anywhere until you're ready. The morning out of Volterra to London you nearly slept through our flight." 

The hunter sighed sleepily, "Just ten more minutes."

The vampire hummed, pressing feather kisses along his bare shoulder.

"Well I suppose we could spare ten minutes." He smirked, "And I could do very much in such a short amount of time."

Feeling cold lips drag along his neck, the hunter shivered. "Don't get any ideas."

"I've already fed my dear hunter, you needn't fear. Unless of course you've reconsidered," Aro teased.

Peter turned over, "Piss on that, just get over here."

He leaned it, Peter flinched feeling icy breath and lips on his own. His eyes staring into his partner's red ones, pulling away. 

"Something's on your mind." Aro said rather than asked.

The hunter sat up in the bed, "Just something weird I saw yesterday."

"Oh? Pray tell then."

Peter shrugged, "Well... You ain't got family or anything around London?"

Aro mused this, "Not as I'm aware. The Volturi rarely branch away from Italy."

"Like you? You've been in Vegas quite awhile." Peter felt the vampire's cool fingers run through his hair.

"Our arrangement is an assignment to eliminate the rogue creatures nesting away in America. Which is why I only returned to Volterra for this meeting with the council on your progress." Aro's hands found themselves interlocked with Peter's. "Our private arrangement is purely a happy coincidence."

"You mean a snog and a shag here and there?" Peter smirked

"Well if you're to be blunt about it yes. But sorry to say regarding family I have no bloodlines that inhabit London, of my human line or otherwise."

Peter glanced at the leather bound book on the nightstand.

"Must of just been a coincidence I guess." Pulling himself away and out of bed, Peter reached down for the dark silk robe rumpled beside the bed. 

"Shall I order you some room service before we leave?" Aro asked, watching the human pull on the robe. Already raiding the restocked mini bar. 

"All the breakfast I need." Peter said holding up the pint size mickey of vodka, forgetting about the strange look-a-like bookseller in Soho.

\--

"Angel!" The demon called, strutting in. "Can I tempt you to some lunch? We could stop in at that fascinating little creperie you love so much."

A tapping of feet came trotting down from the loft. 

"Crowley? It is you, yes?" Aziraphale peeked his head down.

The redhead gave the angel a strange look. "Who the Heaven else would it be?" 

The Principality smiled, "Oh no one else really. Just had a strange encounter with a customer the other day."

"They give you any trouble?"

"Well I ended up selling them something-"

Crowley's glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. He pointed at the angel dramatic with a wave of his hands.

"You. You Aziraphale, Principality, angel of the Eastern Gate, uptight bookshop owner extraordinaire-" This last remark earning a snort from said angel "-You actually SOLD a book. I can't see you doing that even at gunpoint and risking paperwork."

The demon laughed whilst Aziraphale frowned.

"Well, I got distracted you see. He was... persuasive."

Crowley shook his head, "Clearly! I've never seen you sell a single thing in the bookshop since you opened."

"Knowledge is quite precious to me! And there are some things too precious to just give away."

"Says the angel that gave away a flaming sword."

Aziraphale frowned, "She was having quite a rut of a day, what else was I suppose to do the poor things."

The demon shrugged, "One book I guess won't kill ya. Can always find another copy?"

"Oh it was rather old actually. But no matter, I don't need to fret over it now."

Crowley smiled, "Now can I tempt you to some lunch?"

Aziraphale's positive swagger returned with a delighted wiggle. "Such a wily old serpent you are. I suppose a small tempting wouldn't hurt, I do remember hearing mention of crepes!"


	2. Straight Out Of Azkaban

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barty Jr assumed Voldemort or his Dark Lord's followers broke him out of Azkaban the night before his execution. But sometimes the real allies reveal themselves when things seem most bleak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the kudos and comments on chapter one! And I'm certainly going to continue piling more crossover ships into this multiverse!
> 
> Thanks so much for the lovely feedback, and I look forward to supplying more for y'all!
> 
> In regards to Barty Crouch Jr's character, I know he differs alot between the Goblet of Fire movie and the book. As this is more based on David Tennant's short but wild approach in the film I am kind of blending both versions here but leaning more to how he's described and shown in the film.

At first Barty assumed he was either dreaming or dead. 

Dead seemed more likely-the death eater hadn't had what could be recalled as a dream in years, only black emptiness and nightmares filled with howling terror. He was certain he must be dead, his execution had been imminent there was no question on the matter. 

After Potter had been escorted away, Barty could feel that familiar chill run down his spine when dementors and some auror bloke who's name he couldn't place entered. A neverending bone chilling journey later away from the castle and he'd been escorted back to cold winds and wet waters of Azkaban, thrown back into his vacant cell. 

The auror took delight in announcing to him that the dark wizard was to have his soul sucked out for his crimes. But Barty showed no guilt, only pride that he'd completed his promise and mission with great success. Barty would not show fear even in the face of death. 

But it seemed that meeting with the reaper would have to wait a little longer, as it quickly became apparent that the death eater was very much alive.

He sat up, realizing while he was still in the rag like prisoner garbs, that he wasn't lying on cold, damp stone but instead on a comfortable and warm bed. The cheap hotel room from the looks of it was not necessarily pristine quality, but at least more cozy than a freezing prison cell. 

Perhaps the Dark Lord had noticed his admirable work and sacrifice to fulfill his wishes. And he had orchestrated this escape all along, a means to reward one of Lord Voldemort's most faithful allies. 

"Finally awake!" 

Barty whipped about, glancing about his person and the room for his wand-whilst under the guise of Alastor Moody he'd grown accustom to having a wand back in his hand. But he was unarmed and his tongue flicked out alarmed and agitated.

His dark eyes caught glance of the man sitting cross legged in the nearby armchair. 

"I was worried the head wound you received would be more severe. I did try to fix you up on the way here." He smirked, his blue eyes never leaving the wizard.

Barty stared back at Lucian at a loss for words.

"Lycan," His tongue flicking out again.

The half man-were being shook his head with a tired sigh.

"After saving your mortal existence are we really going to resort to basic titles, death eater?" Lucian asked, "If you ask me not a great sort of ring to it really."

"Saving me?" Barty asked, "Just how do you mean?"

"I thought it was obvious, you were going to be executed by those horrid cloaked creatures. But I broke you out."

"You?" The dark wizard was agape, "You just waltzed into Azkaban prison and just broke me out and escaped, with not one dementor on your trail?"

"Oh don't be ludicrous Bartemius! It was not an easy task in the least."

Barty felt a nerve being struck with the realization of it all. He'd single handedly landed Potter in that graveyard, been instrumental in resurrecting Lord Voldemort to full power. Yet none of his servants or death eaters had been called upon to action in Barty's rescue from Azkaban.

For a moment he thought perhaps he mattered more than this.

Yet his real rescuer was a lycan, despite Lucian's people being deemed half breeds. Yet here the half man-were creature sat with a smirk plastered on his face watching the dark wizard intently. 

"I trust this all must surprise you, Bartemius." Lucian uncrossed his legs, standing to his feet. "But you are safe for the time being."

The death eater glanced around, "Looks too clean to be your people's safehouse."

Lucian smiled, showing too much teeth for the wizard's taste. "A bit of trouble with a renegade vampire. But not to worry, we'll have that mess sorted out."

He paused, his blue eyes softened seeing the wizard's glum expression. 

"I've quite missed you, it's hard to remember how long it's been."

Last time Barty had seen Lucian was long before his first breakout of Azkaban, when he was only known as the son of a ministry diplomat to whom the latter was a shoe in as the next Minister for Magic. 

With little to no suspicion waving over the head of Crouch Sr's son, it was all too easy to do the Dark Lord's bidding. One of which was to attempt to parley with the lycans. 

Such creatures like Lucian and his kind were never considered to be on the same level as witches and wizards. But Voldemort was not a fool, he was smart enough to see their joining forces with the death eaters as a strong alliance. 

But when Voldemort's downfall came about and his followers scattered into hiding or capture, Crouch Jr's crimes had bubbled to the surface, and he'd been dragged kicking and screaming to Azkaban before Barty could make any sort of agreed arrangement with the lycans.

And truth be told, he was in part angry that he was unable to meet again specifically with Lucian. Not to secure the deal, but unable to utter a final word to him. 

"Nearly fourteen years." Barty mumbled, "Between Azkaban and father's own personal house arrest until the Dark Lord liberated me."

"My condolences over your father's death."

"Don't be, I killed him."

Lucian smirked with a hum, "I imagine you did, but didn't feel right to assume."

The death eater stood up, but winced as he did. 

"What happens to me now then?" The wizard asked, his tongue flicked out again with a twinge of nervousness. 

"Well for one, I suggest you rest." Sitting Barty back on the bed, his hand running through the matted strands of hair that hid his eyes. "As I said it was not an easy task in whisking you away and you're still very weak. After that, I suppose it's up to you, but I did hope you might still consider what I last offered you."

Barty frowned, there was alot to be said about the lycans and their half breed status. Even Greyback wasn't wholeheartedly accepted among Voldemort's allies. Yet they did have considerable strength and ability that any average wizard would envy. 

Barty was in no rush to answer, yet Lucian rescued the death eater when not even the Dark Lord would. 

And somewhere deep down, he didn't want his reunion with Lucian to be cut so short. Barty wasn't on the spot to make a decision now, but he didn't want to lose Lucian's company again. At least not now.

"I'm grateful Lucian," He said laying back. "And...I suppose, it wouldn't go against Lord Voldemort's wishes if I were to rest and recuperate in your care. I'd be rather useless to him bedridden if I attempted to retreat back to him now."

"That you would." Lucian agreed. 

"How are your lot going to feel when they know you're taking care of me? If I have to be moved to the hideout?"

The lycan frowned, "If they understand the consequences should they refuse, there will be no further issue on the matter."

Barty nodded, "Good... I rather missed having you around too."

Lucian smiled, "And it looks like we'll be seeing alot of each other for awhile."

Clapping his hands together, the lycan nodded. "I imagine you'll need clothes and a decent meal with the state of dress and malnourished palate those ghoulish creatures put you through."

The wizard agreed, but tensed up when his eyes made contact with the Dark Mark that wriggled ever so slightly on his wrist. A pang of guilt crashed over him, but staring at the snake and skull an equally aching feeling of loneliness and abandonment. 

He sat up when Lucian made to leave. "Just!... Stay awhile first yeah? I've been alone too long now."

Blue staring into brown, another flick of Barty's tongue staring into those eyes.

Lucian nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed, beside Barty. His calloused fingertips running through the wizard's hair again. The death eater hadn't realized how much he leaned into the lycan's touch. 

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously for those who read the book Barty Jr was given the dementor's kiss before he could be returned to Azkaban. But for the intents and purposes of any chapters involving him in this fic, he was safely transported back to the wizard prison and was only awaiting execution via the kiss.


	3. Heart of the Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DI Hardy is called in to assist with yet another Surgeon copycat. This holds relevance to Alec, given he almost became one of Dr. Whitly's victims. Yet why then was he still alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you for every comment and every kudo. Yall help keep these chapters coming! :D
> 
> Eventually these pairings and characters will reoccur and overlap with each other in future chapters. Stay tuned!
> 
> A heads up SPOILER ALERT this chapter does contain spoilers for Broadchurch seasons one and two. This chapter takes place in 2019 so three years after the Trish Wintermen case.

The drive up to Claremont Psychiatric was a quiet one. 

"If it's too much we don't have to do this you know." Malcolm said to his disgruntled passenger. "Gil said you don't have to."

Alec shook his head, "Nae, don't be daft. I have to, I didn't fly over to just turn away with my tail between my legs."

The profiler nodded, "Fair enough."

He hadn't seen Alec Hardy in several years, so it was a surprise to both men when the Scot received an email from Detective Arroyo.

It was concerning another Surgeon copycat. Only this one required a second opinion from a first hand witness' recollection of Dr. Whitly's handiwork. 

Among the many horrors Alec had seen, his time with Martin Whitly was one that nearly costed him his life, even if he didn't know it at the time.

And now having flown halfway across the world, the DI found himself in the city that never sleeps, and on his way to see the man causing his latest spat of anxiety. 

Alec didn't even give Ellie much as to why he had to fly out to New York City. He waved off her persistent questions, closing the door with a holler of "Hold down the fort Miller!" 

Daisy was a much harder matter. In the three years since he'd cracked the Sandbrook case, they'd been trying again and Alec wanted to be a better dad. But he put his foot down when she begged to come along to New York, her father insisting it was for a work matter and refusing to leave her alone in the big city. So despite her protests, she would be staying with Tess for the next couple of days until he was back in Broadchurch.

He didn't need anyone knowing why this case really bothered him. Alec Hardy was use to dealing with his fair share of criminal scum. But Dr. Martin Whitly was something else altogether.

\--

Alec nodded, receiving a pat down before being admitted and listening to the guard drone on the rules about entering Whitly's cell.

"And do not cross the red line, under any circumstances." Mr. David instructed.

"Aye, I understand." He nodded. 

The heavy door was unlocked and the guard stepped aside allowing Malcolm and Alec entry.

The state of how Martin Whitly was living out his sentence didn't even surprise Alec at all. He knew the family was rich, and had followed the trial when the Surgeon had been arrested. With the defense team he had, of course Martin got a luxurious deal for a convicted serial killer. 

Right now he was sitting back beside a desk, fully immersed in a blue cover bound book. Seeing he had guests, Martin's attention was now sidetracked from the novel. 

"Malcolm! A few days early for your weekly come around." The doctor smiled

"Good morning Dr. Whitly," Malcolm greeted, neutral and keeping his hands clasped in front of him. 

Martin took note that his son was not alone. "And I see you've brought a friend with you."

Malcolm nodded, "I did."

"What a wonderful surprise indeed!"

Alec frowned-though this was no different than usual. 

He flashed the badge. "DI Alec Hardy, Wessex police division."

The convicted killer continue to smile brightly, "Wessex? Quite a ways away from home it seems."

The Scot stared at him, keeping his composure but just silently asking the pacemaker in his chest to continue functioning.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "This visits concern is about another copycat case."

Martin clasped his hands together, leaning back. "Another one? I feel like I should be flattered."

"Unlike the Berkhead case, it's looking to be much more complicated than that. It seemed right to bring in someone with a personal account of the Surgeon."

Alec motioned to Malcolm. "Maybe if I were to 'ave a little word with him in private might jog his memory up."

The profiler's blue eyes worriedly glanced at the detective. "You're sure about that?"

"This ain't my first case Bright, I know how their twisted minds work. I'm not gettin' sucked into his tosh way of thinking."

Malcolm nodded, "I know, but I do too. And that's what I'm worried about. It's dangerous to let him get inside your head."

Alec sighed hard, "Just trust me on this, right?"

The younger man gave a nod, "Alright, just be careful. If anything happens tap on the glass and we'll get you out of here."

Martin patiently watched the men quietly banter with their backs to him. 

"Any chance I can be let in on the secret too?" He asked, curiously smirking. "It's rather rude to keep secrets."

Malcolm stepped back, "Perhaps it's best if you and Detective Hardy discuss the profile privately." 

"Losing out on father son time? That disappoints me Malcolm." The convicted killer frowned but both Malcolm and Alec could still see the gleam in the man's eyes.

Malcolm forced a smile, "I'm sure you'll survive for ten minutes without me."

The profiler stepped out leaving the two men, one standing and one seated in silence. 

"You bloody liar." 

Martin's brow raised in mild confusion but he stared happily at the Scot. 

"I like to think I'm quite an honest man, detective."

Alec continued to scowl, "You recognized me the moment I walked in di'nt ya?"

The doctor stood, "Quite an observant conclusion. And just why would I?"

"Don't think I'll get wrapped up in your stupid mind games. That day you could have killed me. But you stopped."

Martin smiled, "Yes. So you do still think about it."

Alec stared into the man's eyes, ones that had seen death caused by his own hands. 

"Why spare me, rather than any of your other victims? Tell me the bloody truth!" The Scot asked with clenched teeth.

Martin smirked. "I thought that much was obvious, Alec."

He stood still as a statue but the DI was inwardly startled when the Surgeon took a step forward. But he had already seen the belted restraint and knew he couldn't touch Alec if he stayed behind the line.

"You're right that I knew who you were. You didn't think I just forgot about you after that night did you?" Martin cooly explained. "I must say you've had quite a promising career, my congratulations after you resolved that mess of a case you had on your hands in Sandbrook a few years ago. A shame about the first one you took on with a new partner, the trial's verdict must have hit you both hard."

"Leave Miller out of this," He growled. 

"Oh I wouldn't dream of implying anything, I'm sure she didn't know it was her husband. You know I was really rooting for you to win."

"I said stop it."

Martin held up his hands in surrender, "Very well. Besides, I'd much rather discuss you and your reasons for being here. New York of all places! Can't be very good for your health."

It wasn't until the DI felt a warm palm press against his chest that he realized he was standing far too close to Dr. Whitly.

"How is your heart, Alec?" Martin mumbled.

The Scot sucked in a breath. He'd stepped a little too far forward when the subject of Miller and the Latimer's had come up. So much so that Alec had stepped over the red line.

"Come come, I was the Surgeon but I am a doctor first." The older man smirked, flicking aside the blue tie as he made to undue a button.

And Alec made no move to stop Martin. He should have stepped back. Maybe even tapped on the glass. But none of that happened.

"Pacemaker..." Alec mumbled, feeling a button open and exposed. "During the Latimer's trial."

And then another button, and another. 

"I see, quite a surgery to have in the middle of a trial. I imagine you walked out the following night, just as you had snuck off three days early when you had that little spill in my hospital." Martin smiled.

Alec Hardy physically had changed very much from the younger man he met before his arrest. But those dark eyes that could stare deep down into him were the most recognizable and unforgettable sight. 

Alec's shirt was undone enough for Martin to peel the fabric away enough to expose the detective's pectorals. His pale eyes glanced down at the faint horizontal scar just above where his heart was trying not to beat frantically. Last thing Alec needed right now was to collapse in the cell of a serial killer. Ellie would give him nothing but shit for it if she got wind of it. 

"A fine job they did, but I could have done a cleaner stitch. Though I suppose the scar gives one quite a masculine quality, really."

Alec couldn't help the shuddering exhale of breath when Martin's fingertips gently grazed along the scar. 

"I should hope you're in town awhile, Alec." He smiled, stepping back. Letting the detective fall out of the clouded over sense of time he were stuck in whilst being felt up by the convicted killer. "It would be a shame to cut our reunion short." 

Stunned and ashamed with himself, Alec stepped far back on the other side of the line where he should be, doing up his shirt with haste before Malcolm walked in. 

"I still have questions for you, Dr. Whitly." Alec frowned, "And it's Detective Hardy."

Martin nodded, still smiling ear to ear with amusement. "Of course of course, I haven't forgotten. You never did like Alec, even back then. As they say 'old habits die hard'."


	4. Is This Ineffable?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has his suspicions, and takes a little trip upstairs for some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAA All of you are so amazing! Thank you for such supportive comments and kudos! For sure there will be continuous chapter and potentially more Sheen/Tennant ships in this fic :3

Gabriel and Michael shared quizzical-and in the former a slightly fearful-expressions watching the principality exit the escalator. 

"Aziraphale, an… unexpected pleasure to see you again." The archangel greeted. "I must say I didn't understand your message." 

"Right! Yes," Aziraphale stopped himself from giving a nervous wiggle. 

Last that-as far as Heaven knew-he had been here he had survived a showering of Hellfire. And damn...bless...something it all, if he and Crowley were going to continue this charade Aziraphale had to be brave and stand his ground properly."

His best attempt to put on a frown of indifference, the angel cleared his throat.

"Well Gabriel, what my intent behind the message was is that I need access to Earth's observation files." 

Gabriel seemed convinced but Michael seemed to be staring right through Aziraphale, as if expecting the angel to cave. 

But the principality refused to give her that!

"And…? The reason behind use of the files?" Gabriel asked expectedly.

Oh. Aziraphale hadn't thought this far ahead! If he even mentioned what it truly regarded-or so much as mentioned Crowley he'd be barred from seeking out what he needed to know.

Crowley. Think, what would Crowley say?

"Well you should know, should you not?" Aziraphale asked in a as-a-matter-of-fact tone. "I mean it came right from the top!" 

Michael blinked, "The Metatron told you that?" 

Aziraphale stifled a mischievous smirk, "Oh no not the Metatron. I do mean the uh… well…" he raised his hand as if to visualize what he meant.

Gabriel whom was skeptical was now a little taken back, not realizing the angel's bluff. 

"You mean to say the Almighty?" Gabriel asked.

"Of course! I was to understand you were first to be informed as Her highly appointed Archangel Gabriel." Aziraphale feigned the loyalty and respect he expected Gabriel wanted to hear. Seemed rather sinful for an archangel of all beings to be so vain.

The elder angel straightened his tie with a smug smile, "Well I wouldn't want to pride myself but I am not one to question the Almighty or Her divine will" 

Michael cleared her throat, a tight lipped expression on her stern face. 

Gabriel stammered. "Right! Well, if it is such an important matter I say Godspeed in what you're looking for Aziraphale."

The principality nodded, trying so desperately hard to contain his joy at his deceitful success. 

"Pip pip to it then," Aziraphale gave the slightest smile, striding past the archangels to the upper level where the files could be found.

Aziraphale had never personally used the archives, but at least understood how to do so. 

Standing before a clear basin, Aziraphale looked in but saw no reflection of himself or the room the basin resided in. This was the gateway to the files. 

He felt his wings burst into the celestial plane of reality upon summoning them. The angel exhaled a sigh of relief letting them spread. 

Reaching up, Aziraphale sucked in a breath and pulled. 

"Ow!" Aziraphale whined, having plucked a feather. 

They'd likely need a preening, perhaps a favor later he could ask of Crowley.

Speaking of…

From his breastpocket, the angel pulled out a rather worn compact biscuit tin dating back to the year his bookshop on Earth opened. But in the tin was not cookies, but rather a single sleek black feather.

Demons had all had wings as angels. But many tore theirs apart in The Fall, some personally ripped them off to save as no reminder of the Heavenly realm they were created from. But Crowley kept his wings. Yes they were singed from his saunter vaguely downward. But somehow he had cared for them and kept them as healthy as post Fall they could be. 

Taking the black feather between his thumb and index finger he dropped both it and it's heavenly white counterpart into the basin. 

The feathers landed together with a tiny blip. Large ripples formed and grew larger in the clear pool. The water swirled and miraculously leapt up from the basin, weaving about the room. The droplets frozen in midair morphed, reshaped into pictures. The lives he and Crowley had sewn together in the course of six thousand years. 

It was all there, he could see Mesopotamia just after the flood had begun, another damp run in in Wessex, and Paris where they dined on crepes! 

But Aziraphale swept through these, while feeling reminiscent, it was not what he'd come looking for. 

But then he noticed it. 

A familiar face, but not the same being. It looked like a hospital, he wore Crowley's features but was not his wily demon. His eyes were closed and his face contorted in pain. And the man with a hand clasped over his was most certainly not Aziraphale but held so similar his own nature. 

Nor was another. This Crowley was holding something to this Aziraphale's chest-he had much longer and shaggier hair. A swirling light pulsating against the not Aziraphale's open wound. 

And another file nearly flew past the angel. This not Crowley was actually familiar. Yes! This was the one he'd seen in the bookshop! But he looked much more dishelved in this particular piece of surveillance.

And the principality was taken aback seeing his rather pale complexion companion. And just how provocatively he appeared to be ravaging him so.

"Good Lord," Worriedly Aziraphale glanced about as he snatched up a few of the fly by files before removing the feathers from the basin. The files faded and the water reshaping and settling in the pool. 

And here he and Crowley had assumed this was a simple case or two of mistaken identity. 

\--

Crowley was all nice, cozy, and coiled about himself, soaking up the sun from a nearby window in the bookshop. He hadn't expected nor wanted to be disturbed. But nevertheless he was. 

"Crowley! Dear boy, please stop sunbathing and listen to me." Aziraphale pleaded. 

Crowley lazily gave a flick of his tongue, scales coiling tighter around himself.

Aziraphale frowned with disapproval, "Don't you go flicking your tongue out at me. And I know for a fact that was deliberate!" 

If snakes could groan, this one certainly would have.

Slowly the massive black scaled serpent reshaped into a black clothed redhead that pouted up at the principality.

"I was having a nice nap, Angel." The demon sulked. 

"I'll pray for your forgiveness. But right now there's something you should look at my dear."

Crowley snatched the photos the angel handed over. His yellow serpent eyes narrowed in confusion, tilting the photo sideways.

"Is that ME?" He asked in confusion.

"I I don't think so. But there's more my dear, look!"

The demon was beside himself, it was like staring at mirrors but the reflection was the same yet all distorted at the same time.

"What's this all about Angel?" He asked

The principality shuffled back and forth. "Perhaps all part of God's plan?" 

Crowley scoffed. "Well I for one want answers for all the blasted questions I've been asking." 

Despite Armageddon being thwarted, it would seem Their side had yet another mission to accomplish.

"Where are we going?" Aziraphale asked

Crowley smirked, "A little meet and greet with our new friends. C'mon Angel!"

No mortals were none the wiser as wings unfurled and the ethereal being took flight.


	5. Dark Marked for Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death Eaters come knocking on the wrong door when they're called upon to track down and capture Lucian.

Lucian gritted his teeth, tasting blood as he did so. 

Who fired the first shot was still questionable. But it was very clear the masked Death Eaters were more than happy to engage in a fight. 

What followers Lucian had that were not in hiding put up a struggle against the evasive witches and wizards. Sharp salivating teeth bared, claw like hands desperate to maim and shred.

But Voldemort's army of dark wizards were not so daft as to go into a lycan stronghold unprepared. And the dark lord required information from Lucian, why else would he be the only half man-were creature still standing? That is to say he was until he'd been flung backward by a curse, a sharp pain like broken glass in his abdomen following next. 

What the Death Eaters hadn't expected was one of their own to be hiding out with the lycan for so many months. One whom they assumed the Azkaban dementors or quite possibly one of the lycans had killed.

"Protego!" Barty countered, seeing a stray curse fly through the air. 

Grabbing Lucian by the shoulders of his coat, he dragged the man to his feet.

"We can't outrun them you realise," The lycans panted with ragged breath. 

"I'm not trying to," The wizard hissed, "But you'll do no good bleeding out on the floor."

They had been hiding out in an old manor that had been condemned by muggle authorities. Barty and Lucian tended not to linger in one place for very long. And the building was not on any schedule to be demolished anytime soon, so for the time being it was free vacancy.

The dark mark on his wrist wriggled and burned, Voldemort and his followers were getting stronger by the minute. And with no sure ties or sealed alliance with the Dark Lord, no lycans-including Lucian-were safe.

They wheeled a corner only to be met with two masked wizards, fully cloaked and with their wands at the ready. 

"Y-you!" The shorter one called, staring at Barty through the mask. "The Dark Lord, he said you were dead!"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Barty glared, the flick of his tongue as he stared the other wizard down. 

"You're to return with us with this half breed," the taller man sneered. "He has pertinent insight that will further aid the Dark Lord's conquest."

The younger wizard clenched his jaw, standing his ground with an arm still draped around Lucian. The man-were beings eyes narrowing a crystal like blue hue, his teeth sharp and elongate.

"I can take care of him myself, I don't need you." Barty spat in defiance

"Oh but we insist. After all it's rather odd that you're presumed dead for months, not once reporting back to the Dark Lord with a single word. And the next that you're seen, it is in the hideout of a half breed fugitive." 

The Death Eaters already had their wands raised, but Barty was already expecting that.

"Incarerous!" He shouted, a constricting force overtook the shorter dark wizard, clutching his throat in agony. 

"Crucio!" His partner commanded his wand.

Barty howled in pain, writhing for all but a few seconds before slowly opening his eyes and easily rising to his feet. One thing he still enjoyed was toying with people, letting his opponent think they had the upper hand before striking them down.

He chuckled with the flick of his tongue. 

"Rather an impervious curse when you've been trained so closely under Lord Voldemort as I have." He smirked, raising his own wand. "Crucio!"

The dark wizard fell to his knees with a shriek, his body as if doused in fire.

"You really have to mean it," Barty grinned, raising his wand over the keeled over Death Eater.

Out of the corner, his brown eyes noticed the first wizard stagger up, finding his way out of the spellbound stronghold. A murderous glint in his eyes staring at where Lucian stood, leaning against a half collapsed pillar. 

Releasing the Death Eater from the city, Barty whipped around giving a swift kick to the Dark wizard sending him backward. Raising his wand back up to his partner. 

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Barty howled, a green light emanating from the end of his wand, hitting the Death Eater straight in the chest as he fell over dead. 

Lucian's feral defense faded, watching the wizard repeat the killing curse, dispatching the last of their assailants.

Stepping over to him, the wizard threw an arm over the lycan's shoulder, the two sinking down together onto the floor. 

"This'll tingle a bit," The former Death Eater warned, raising his wand. 

"Vulnera...Sanentur," Barty incantated. "Vulnera Sanentur"

Lucian watched the blood that had been soaking into his shirt begin to be sucked back into his body. He groaned feeling the strange, but not necessarily unpleasent sensation as his gashes began reknitting themselves together. 

"Vulnera Sanentur," Barty lowered his wand. Carefully he peeled away the grimy jacket and undid the remainder of Lucian's torn shirt. Discarding it, he pressed a warm palm to the man's chest, just over one of the gradually healing gashes, the skin threaded itself back up. 

"I don't have any dittany on me, so it'll probably scar." The wizard mumbled, ever so gently his fingertips hovered. "May still hurt for a few days."

Lucian grasped his hand with his own. 

The lycan gave him that charismatic smile that Barty oh so enjoyed.

"That's alright, a nice souvenir to commemorate the occasion."

Barty sighed, "So I'm presumed dead."

"It would seem so. But is that really such a bad thing?"

The dark wizard considered just that. Everyone including Voldemort assumed Barty Crouch Jr was dead, and he'd just murdered the only witnesses that could say otherwise. Since the incident with the hybrid and his female vampire companion in Romania, Lucian had also kept a quiet low profile since his assumed demise. Very few lycans-such as the now dead ones guarding their hideout-even knew their leader was still alive. 

"You ever been to London before?" Barty asked his half man-were friend. 

Lucian had a curious gleam in his eyes, "I've never strayed too far from Eastern Europe, with the exception of smuggling you out of that dreadful prison." 

"Might be safer, no one will look for you there."

The lycan gave the wizard's hand a gentle squeeze. 

"And if you've been marked deceased, it should be an easy means of hiding in plain sight for you."

Barty lips twitched up in a smile. "You'll need some time to heal, once you're able we can apparate most of the way there."

"As long as it's not a journey on one of those dreadful broomsticks."

"No, but probably can't apparate any further than France. How do you feel about thestrals?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad everyone is enjoying the story so far! As always thank you for the encouragement, a kudo or comment goes a long way :)


	6. Just a Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter introduces Aro to show business, and the vampire repays the hunter in kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad to hear the reception this story of crossover drabbles is getting! This was originally going to be a one shot on it's own but this story seemed like a good home for it. 
> 
> Thank you again for the lovely comments and kudos! <3

“Begone, foul creature!” Peter hollered, darting toward the vampire. 

Aro bared fangs at the hunter, leaping away as he avoided a swift swing of a stake in the mortal’s hand.

“And just what makes you-a mere mortal-assume you can defeat the likes of me?” The ancient smirked with plenty of teeth. “With all the powers I hold in my palm, what do you have?”

Peter dropped the stake and released his arms out in front of him, his palms raised. A wave of fire seemed to emit from his hands, the vampire giving a pained howl. The flames died and the immortal was nowhere to be seen. 

Peter stood before the crowd. 

“Another wretched beast of Satan’s pit sent back to Hell!” The illusionist announced with the woosh of his long leather coat behind him. “And those that still walk the Earth will regret the day they set their sights on me.”

The applause was a common occurrence for Peter, not much to bat an eye at. Aro on the other hand was in full amazement. 

“That was quite a showboating spectacle,” The vampire beamed once Peter strutted off stage and the show came to an end. Tonight, the leather was really riding up and the illusionist wanted out of it as soon as possible. 

“They seem to like the new act,” The hunter remarked as he and the ancient slinked past the backstage crew. His phone rang, a long groan escaping the magician. 

“I’ll meet you upstairs.” Strutting away he pressed the answer button “Yeah? 'Kay, what now?”

After that phone call Peter grumbled stepping into the elevator, desperate for a drink. Not an uncommon craving after one of his shows by any means, but after a long and tedious call with his manager he was in dire need of alcohol. The Vegas Strip already alight outside the glass as he was whisked up. Peter savoured the familiar night life of Sin City.

The doors opened, the elevator giving a resounding ding as the illusionist reached the penthouse.

Not even two steps out of the elevator, Peter had disrobed himself of the heavy leather coat. This giving further accent to his lean hips as he swaggered into his home. Walking past the display cases, the wig found its way off as well, ruffling up his short, dark hair. And just passing his anti vampire trophy gallery, the man found himself in a cold yet inviting embrace.

"Why don't I help you with these?" Aro smiled, happily accepting the coat and wig before Peter could even say yes or no.

The ancient took time and care neatly hanging the coat up in Peter's closet, then draping the black wig over that.

Walking back into the sitting room, Aro tilted his head with a smirk, "A pity, I could have assisted you with those as well."

Peter had just finished peeling away the fake facial hair, giving way to his very real light stubble upon his face.

"S'Fine," He shrugged, reaching around the bar for a glass and half a bottle of Midori. He chucked a handful of ice into the tumbler from the freezer compartment.

"Seems like such a hassle," Aro remarked, watching the magician pour his green drink and take a long generous swig. "I must say as invigorating as it was, I'll never truly understand this show business of yours."

"You get use to it, it's kind of like being a vampire if you think about it."

Aro raised a bemused brow, "Oh? An interesting comparison for you of all people to make."

"Well the way I see it, you lot do your business at night. Pretend to be people you aren't. 'Bout the same as show business really."

"Even me? I too am feigning as someone else?"

"You pretending to be human yeah. You don't seem to be too good at it though with your weird old bourgeois upbringing."

Aro slinked behind the illusionist, a cool chill brushing against Peters ear. Aro removed the soaked cloth Peter had in his hand. He proceeded to wipe down the human's expose throat clean of the wash off crucifix tattoos. "Perhaps then you could teach me, offer a lesson or two."

Peter shivered at the tingling cold breath, "I guess maybe...maybe I could."

Now Peter found himself craving more than just a drink. Which is how he then found his lips pressed against Aros, hot against cold. 

Peter was pressed against the bar, wedged between the tabletop and Aro's chill and solid chest. 

His black polished fingers weaved through the vampire's just as dark hair. The illusionist gave a cringe feeling cold palms run down his bare arms, slinking down to his hips. 

"You gonna just shag me up against the bar or you mind moving me somewhere a little more comfortable?" Peter grumbled.

Aro chuckled, "My apologies, last thing I'd want is you to be uncomfortable. I'd like to make you feel as wonderful as possible."

"Whatever, bed. Now."

Peter wasn't sure if he was lifted off the ground or practically flung to the bedroom before feeling his back hit a much more comfortable mattress. 

"Better?"

"Yeah, loads more."

Aro smirked, glancing down at the human. "Look at you, remarkable."

"Wha?"

"Just how much I admire your mortality, your vulnerability." 

Peter gave him a cheeky smile, "Yeah, let's keep it that way, good and human."

But his smile faltered, and his pulse quickened seeing a dribble of red bubble up from Aro' s bottom lip. The ancient broke the skin, biting into his own lip, letting the old age blood smear his tongue and lips.

Peter tried to sit up but the Volturi's body pressed against his was inescapable. 

"No no! Oh no you fucking don't! I don't-" But the illusionist words were cut short feeling lips pressed hungrily against his. Peter tried to let out a muffled protest, his arms spasm about as much as they could while being pinned down. 

Aro continued to place upon him open mouthed kisses, letting his lips and tongue breach the illusionists formerly clenched jaws. Aro could feel the human's body relax and much less resistance on his end. Peter felt light, weightless and blissful as the vampiric blood coursed down his throat and throughout his body.

Pulling away Aro smiled down with slightly reddened teeth. Peter's eyes were glazed over, still dark brown like the coffee he drank upon waking on late mornings. But the faintest hue of a red glow seeped out of them. 

"Oh now now. Do not fret yourself, dear Vincent. I'd hate to see you so riled up over nothing."

Brushing a few stray strands of hair out of Peter's face he pecked the human's lips.

"It is only a taste; you will not be turned. Until the day comes that you ask me to that is, you are still very human." Ago explained, watching Peter lean forward when the ancient pulled away. "To taste vampire blood without being bitten is quite like say those hallucinogenic drugs you humans consume. These effects shall pass but while it flows through you it will feel rather lovely, euphoric I suppose."

Peter gave a moan of protest, trying to tug Aro back down to him. 

"Sit up for me please," Aro said, climbing off the human. As he did so Peter followed his actions, sitting upright. His eyes still glazed over and his slightly agape staring at the vampire.

"And might I ask you remove the rest," Aro gestured to the still clothed half of Peter's lower body. 

Without word or question the illusionist made to unbutton and peel away the leather pants.

"It is also a rather pleasing side effect having an influence of control over the drinker’s actions." Aro chuckled "By no means would I take advantage of you in such a state, but it's a pleasing thought to say the least." 

By this point Peter was completely stripped down, sitting up on his knees with a pleading look in his brown-red tinted eyes.

"Very good," Aro commended, pulling the human forward with an arm. Peter eagerly let the vampire kiss him with cool inviting lips. The human tasting copper hints of the ancient's blood. 

Aro's lips drooped down, feather light against Peter's stubbly jawline. And lower still he began sucking on the sensitive skin down the human's neck. Peter gasped, panting at the raw sensation of lips and teeth raking over his throat. But never once penetrating, despite how much Aro longed to bite down and drink his fill. 

Despite not actually biting hard enough to break skin, Aro's eyes gleamed down at his human, writhing and moaning on the bed. A dark bruising had begun forming where he had been teasingly sucking. 

“Perhaps you may allow me a sampling myself.” The vampire purred, running a finger down the human’s jawline. 

Peter gave a faint moan of protest, still overwhelmed by euphoria. 

“You, you said you wouldn’t…” He breathed. 

Aro shook his head, “Now now dearest. There are other means of feeding and still retaining a human’s mortality. You’re just so delectable in this state.”

“Cocky bastard…” Peter grumbled but gave a breathy sigh. In earnest truth, despite trying to deny it himself the fantasy of Aro’s teeth sinking into his neck had come to mind on quiet nights that the illusionist was intoxicated and aroused. But not one of those fantasies contained being turned, Peter never wanted to be a vampire, despite how much more civilized and albeit kind Aro had been compared to other nightwalkers he had encountered.

Peter flinched feeling a sting against his abdomen, the pain no more severe than a paper cut. 

His head lulled back, seeing Aro slowly lick a tiny trail of red blood that beaded from a sliver like cut just above Peter’s navel. 

“Peter…” Aro shuddered, “Absolutely perfect.”

“Oh Christ,” The mortal panted, feeling that cold tongue greedily lap at the tiny escape of warm blood. Gradually he trailed up to simply lick and kiss the unpunctured, lean skin. 

Peter gripped the bedsheet, feeling Aro ride up his bare torso, cool lips grazing the mortal’s left nipple. 

“Fuck, I can’t take much more…” Peter’s chest heaved, and his teeth clenched. “Please…”

Aro smirked, his red eyes at level with brown. 

“If you insist dearest,” The vampire submitted, beginning to peel off his black suit jacket. Peter was already making to short work on his shirt, with all the hunter’s tugging the unfortunate garment would need sewing.


	7. A Skip Across the Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only when the tabloids were released did Alec realize how close he was to being one of the Surgeon's last victims. An unfortunate circumstance, as he found Dr. Whitly to be a very enticing man in the short time that he knew him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate the feedback so much that this story has been recieving! Thank you for so many kudos and especially to terryreviews, Hurtslikeyourmouth, Quakerlass, and Twisha for reviewing the last chapter!  
> I had a different chapter in mind for the next Hardy/Whitly installment but many of y'all asked for some backstory. And so here we are! Always open to anything you'd like to see in the upcoming chapters.
> 
> While Martin's age is not stated exactly, Alec would be approximately 28-29 in 1998 and for the sake of the story he and Whitly are close in age though Martin is a handful of years older.

1998

To anyone that knew Alec Hardy today, he was a stern, grump of an individual with a straight one-way path on what he wanted, trusting instinctual decisions. But to a man like Martin Whitly, when he first met him that is, Alec made many a decision with as much chance and uncertainty as a coin flip. 

Alec was brought up in a devout Christian household to have a good career, marry, and raise a family.

He had flip flopped and debated what career path his life would turn down. His father disapproved how late a bloomer his son was to find that one niche to pull him away from the odd jobs he’d been falling into. But it was a breath of fresh air when Alec was divided between a final coin flip decision: police academy or medical school.

One of Alec’s mates from school Ron, offered to take him along to a medical conference going on in the city, some miles outside their quiet seaside community. It was an offer that found he and his friend in the car that following weekend, to listen to many a professional ICU workers and grade A surgeons alike in attendance.

And this would lead to another flip flop situation upon attending Dr. Whitly’s seminar. 

Not at first of course, Alec sat before another well-trained man in his profession among many other sets of eyes. But something about the doctor, to which he put so much devotion, passion into his craft. There was a glimmer in those dark eyes when a hand came up to ask a question, quite so when Alec would raise a point. 

Alec had not expected the tap on his shoulder as the seats cleared out. 

“Oh, Dr. Whitly yeah?” Alec stammered.

The doctor smiled warmly at the slightly younger man, “Do call me Martin, people rarely do.”

“Right, uh Martin. What can I do fer you?”

“More to the point what I can do for you.” The doctor smiled innocently. “You seemed very interested in what I had to say.”

Alec nodded with an innerved shuffle, “Aye I’m… I suppose it may be where I want my future to go.”

Martin nodded, “Ah! I thought so seeing that spark in your eyes. Between you and me it was a challenge to finally buckle down myself and pursue all of this.”

“Yer not from around here,” Alec noted rather than asked.

“No, and let me tell you was more than a little hop and a skip. But I’m to be heading back to New York in a few days after the conference. I merely owed one of my colleagues a favor when they were too ill to attend. But I’m sure this isn’t of much interest to you all this rambling.”

“Noo it’s interesting actually. Well yer interesting… That is to say…!” Alec was internally scolding himself for sounding like such a babbling idiot in front of Martin.

But the doctor seemed unfazed, rather it seemed the opposite and he was all the more interested.

“Sounds like your nerves are a little shot, join me for a drink?” He gestured. “Doctor’s orders, I insist!” 

Alec had lost sight of Ron just before Dr. Whitly’s lecture, but he could find his friend later. 

“Sounds noice.” 

“And besides it would be good to get on a first name basis.”

“Ah, I never liked ma name. Alec, but most people just call mae Hardy.”

“Alec Hardy,” The way the words rolled off the man’s tongue somehow just put him at ease. “It’s a shame you don’t like it, I rather think it suits you.”

\--

Only a few days before Martin would be returning to New York. He hadn’t felt overly cozy in Edinburgh and the hour and some drive to the conference in Glasgow. But since meeting Alec, the grey weather felt a little brighter. 

Here the Surgeon had assumed it was going to be a quiet boring break before he could try his hand with a new ‘patient’. Imagine his surprise and delight when Alec agreed to meet with him again tonight.

Martin felt a twinge of regret in what fate was waiting the young Scot. It wasn’t Alec’s fault necessarily by any means. Once Martin Whitly set his sights on someone just as appealing, just as enticing as someone so… inviting as Alec Hardy he just couldn’t resist that urge.

He would make sure though for Alec, he’d ease the pain, make it quicker on him than Martin had been on the others. Perhaps the Surgeon was going soft, something about those deep dark eyes…

Well that was the evening plan had the sudden need to rush to the emergency room not come upon the knock to his door.

\--

Alec had been nervous. Quite nervous actually. Only a handful of days since he and Dr. Whitly had had that drink after the lecture and he had been trailing the man’s work, in need of some sort of further discussion with him. 

Just the need to hear Martin’s voice for some odd reason gave him some comfort, and just want for further companionship.

But how crazy did that sound? All for a man Alec just met, and one that was married! He hadn’t been wearing it at the time-but Alec’s sharp eyes caught sight of the outline of where a ring should be on Martin’s finger. 

And then there was Tess to consider. Truth be told, his girlfriend was the reason Alec was so torn between whether or not to follow her to the academy. It’s not that he didn’t like her in that sense. But she was also a smart and safe decision. 

But was it what Alec really wanted? The work perhaps, as he’d seen some of her assignments find their way to date night. Tess was smart, she was attractive. Someone that Alec’s very traditional family would approve of, regardless of if it was what he wanted. 

Heading up the steps to Martin’s hotel room his heart was racing. Unsure, uncertain, unknown. All things Alec hated and was stressing over. 

So much to the point that when the door was answered, he found himself falling into the doctor’s arms.

\--

Martin watched Alec stir in his sleep. Well it wasn’t as though the Scot had gone down for a quick kip. 

While Martin was the Surgeon, he was Dr. Whitly first. And the doctor did no harm when he had an incoming patient. 

He stepped into action right away, he checked for signs of breathing at the mouth. Alec’s breaths were absent. Bringing his hand down to the Scot’s chest, he could not feel any tremors or beats from the heart. 

Basic CPR, the bread and butter of any trained physician. 

Martin had done this many a times with several past patients. Yet now as he began his chest compressions, he felt a higher cause for concern in preserving Alec’s life. 

Alec groaned, sucking in breath erratically. Martin smiled, brushing back to stray strands out of his face.

“I must say this never happens on the first date,” The doctor chuckled, “Best admit you to hospital I’m sure.”

Alec was breathing more steadily but still unconscious. So he could give no protest to Martin’s close proximity and the way his work worn hands gently grazed his skin. 

Martin noted how exceptionally warm Alec felt. He leaned in, taking a hearty inhale of the faint traces of aftershave and natural pleasant smell Alec had. 

His lips hovered dangerous close to the Scot’s, staring down as he exhaled. Quite a handsome fellow he was, despite the little nick upon his chin-likely an oversight whilst shaving this morning.

He continued to stare solemnly and quietly at Alec, how at peace he seemed to finally be. 

The 999 call could surely wait a few more minutes. 

\--

Martin gave no resistance in the weeks that led up to his arrest. He was a man that seemed quite unfazed. Albeit that Malcolm had tipped off the officer left the man with perhaps a pang of hurt. But there was so much his boy did not understand, but eventually he would. One day his boy would understand.

Meanwhile halfway across the globe, the tabloids that appeared on the Surgeon would eventually find their way on the other side of the pond.  
And when it did, Alec’s naïve disposition had crumbled away, sowing the seeds of his future self’s stern drive and temperament. 

Seeing the footage of Martin Whitly ‘The Surgeon’ hauled into the courthouse was when Alec finally decided.

Within a year, residing in Coventry during his studies, the Scot now found himself neglecting sleep, all too busy with assignments and being trained to one day earn the badge after his police training was complete. And in another year, Alec would find himself engaged, and shortly after eloping when Tess confessed that she was pregnant. 

Alec Hardy thought he’d never have to hear the name Martin Whitly ever again. Imagine his surprise nearly two decades later.


	8. What Happens in Las Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale go out of town-and out of the country altogether-to partake a show in Sin City, along with meeting its' star.

“I’ve never cared for America,” Aziraphale groaned. “Especially not this desert.”

Crowley shrugged behind the wheel. “Not my cup of tea either, had a bad couple of temptations back in the 30s. Mostly a couple of work houses, ngk didn’t work out.”

The angel frowned, “You can’t possibly suggest you had a hand in the Great Depression.” 

He suddenly gave his demonic friend a nervous sideways glance, “You didn’t, did you?”

If he hadn’t had sunglasses on, the principality would have seen the look in Crowley’s serpent eyes that practically said ‘are you kidding me?’

“’Course not Angel! Too much paperwork, and you know I hated just sending down daily reports. Besides the humans did all that to themselves.”

Aziraphale gave a little smile of perhaps relief. “Righto...yes!”

True they had flown-quite literally, wings and all-to Las Vegas, Crowley refused to leave the Bentley behind at the flat. And so miraculously the vintage automobile was pristine and awaiting the demon-angel duo.

Despite the rows of other cars, the Bentley somehow easily and quickly bobbed and weaved its way through the evening traffic. Many a drivers baffled in the moment but paid no mind as the olden time vehicle pulled into an underground parking lot, Freddy Mercury blaring through the relatively modern speakers. 

They found a spot easily-the owner of the blue pickup was in a hurry to leave the parking space with absolutely no idea why. 

Ducking out through a side door, Aziraphale and Crowley walked among the loud, ignorant crowd around them.

“And you’re sure this is the correct rendezvous?” Aziraphale asked, as the ethereal pair stepped into the indoor lobby of the Hard Rock casino. 

Crowley gave a nudge pointing upward, “You tell me.”

“Oh, Yes I think you're correct.” The angel said with a nervous wiggle staring up at the massive poster.

‘Peter Vincent, Fright Night’

The getup the man on the poster wore was outrageous and an obscene amount of leather for Aziraphale’s taste. But the face and the eyes despite the long haired façade were inescapable to the angel.

“Yes, I think you’re right.” He agreed as the red-haired demon strutted along, Aziraphale trailing along. They strolled past the sounds of various slot machines, the humans around them shouting and jeering for success or adversary in the face of failure among those gambling away their expenses. They weaved around one particularly intoxicated-not so kind-gentleman being escorted out by the scruff of his jacket. 

“Sin City indeed.” Aziraphale exasperated, unimpressed. 

Crowley shrugged, “I’ve seen worse, best make note not to take our holidays in Detroit.”

“Quite so my dear I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Crowley opened one of the double doors for the angel.

Stepping through the threshold into the auditorium Aziraphale gave the demon a nod with a warm smile.

“Thank you, dear boy. Very kind of-”

“I am not!” Crowley grumbled 

\--

Despite seeing his mortal doppelganger prance about on stage, Crowley was having quite a bit of fun at the show. 

Aziraphale gaped at the bursts of fire, grasping the demon’s hand fearfully. 

“Isn’t that quite dangerous?” He asked his red-haired companion. 

Crowley shrugged, “Maybe, humans seem to like danger and excitement. This one seems to.”

The demon smiled hearing an “Oh my!” from Aziraphale as Peter unshackled himself as the three vampires were about to swoop in on him. The music thundering and the large pentagram in the foreground flashing erratically. 

And with a spark and plume of smoke, Peter Vincent had suddenly disappeared as the crowd applauded. 

“Well. That was…” The principality stumbled with his words. “Intriguing.”

“Intriguing enough that we have us a little look around backstage I think.” Crowley said through all the commotion of the dispersing crowd. 

Aziraphale nodded, “We should keep a low profile, I’d hate to disrupt.”

Crowley had a sly look in his serpent slit eyes behind his sunglasses, “No need to sneak around, we belong here after all.”

The angel then noticed a lanyard around his neck that was certainly not there before the show began. 

“What is this?” He questioned, noticing that his demonic friend had one on as well. 

“VIP passes Angel, no reason Mr. Vincent would turn down such important people as us away.” He gave a smug smirk. 

Aziraphale would say he did not approve of frivolous miracles, but they did venture all the way from his cozy Soho abode all the way to Las Vegas for a reason. And Aziraphale was certainly not one to talk, as the other day he used a minor miracle upon Crowley startling him and having to repair a damaged mug, including the spilt cocoa.

\--

“Sign in,” The pudgy faced guard behind the counter grunted. “You have an appointment?”

“Oh, well-“ Aziraphale stammered.

“Yeah, could say so.” Crowley answered, scribbling his signature.

The man took a double take hearing the demon speak. He quickly relaxed however seeing the differences in color and clothing. But the flashy redhead sounded so similar, strange.

The security guard nodded, “Right just need to ring Mr. Vincent first.”

A hand behind his back, the demon snapped a little demonic intervention. The phone emitting a loud screech when the man lifted the receiver. 

“Shit,” He grumbled, slamming the phone back down. “Damn phone line must be on the fritz again. Just head on up this time.”

“Jolly good, thank you!” Aziraphale smiled, hearing the elevator ding. 

“Come on Angel,” Crowley called, swaggering toward the open doors. 

The doors shut behind them, the lift heading up to the penthouse. 

The nightlife of the city was flourishing. Aziraphale beamed at the lights down below through the glass. 

“I must say, I’m not sure what to expect, or what we hope to accomplish my dear.” The angel remarked.

“I need to see for myself what She’s been up to.” Crowley frowned. “Tinkering around with my spare parts…”

“Perhaps there’s a reason for all of this.”

“Shut it! I don’t want to hear the blasted word ‘Ineffable’ tonight. All She does is play games with the universe!”

Aziraphale nervously glanced up at the starless sky, hoping the Almighty wasn’t listening in or simply overlooked Crowley’s angry rambling.

“At any rate, let’s try to be respectful dear boy,” Aziraphale attempted to keep the peace. “And after all we are only going up to see a mere mortal after all. What could possibly go wrong?” 

The doors dinged, giving way to a large display gallery of relics and artifacts. 

“My oh my!” The angel was taken by surprised. “What an astounding collection.” 

Crowley whistled, “You’re both hoarders, seems like you probably have more in common with this bloke than me.” 

The angel-demon duo heard a clanking of glass up ahead and Crowley pulled Aziraphale away as he continued for the main sitting room. 

“There’s my book!” The principality remarked, noting the large brown leather-bound book in an adjacent case.

“So not something I can find on Amazon?” Crowley joked

“Most unlikely.”

“Charley?” They heard a holler. “Thought you were coming around tomorrow night! Or are you gonna ask for my keys tonight again? I mean really, I’m all for you and Amy-“

Peter trudged out with a full tumbler glass in his hand-a drip spilling as he lazily swished it around. He froze in place seeing a much different set of guests than his teenage friend. 

“Who the fuck are you? If you’re press I’m not talking, you talk to my guy not me.” The illusionist frowned, tying his robe tighter around himself. 

The illusionist blinked, “Wait a minute. Hey yeah! You’re the one from that old bookshop a few weeks back.”

Aziraphale smiled at the recognition, “Yes! And I must say you did an excellent job taking the best care in preserving it.”

Peter was still weirded out by the bookseller, very old fashioned and just fairly upbeat. 

He nearly dropped his glass when he noticed the angel’s darkly dressed companion. Was Peter already drunk? The other one wore sunglasses, but what he could see just looked so disturbingly familiar. The nose, the cheekbones, his demeanor. 

“Just who the hell are you people?” Peter eyed the nearest display case holding a long silver dagger.

“Oh I think I can assist with that dearest.” Another voice chirped, as Aro stepped into view with his hands gently clasped. “Though I must say I haven’t seen one of your kind in over two hundred years. Delightful!”


	9. Do You Live On Air?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin will only cooperate with the NYPD if they allow him and Alec some quiet visitation time together. DI Hardy is less than thrilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much! And especially Identityless, Amitafi, Quakerlass, Bullet_with_butterfly_wings, and KakushiMiko for the comments and feedback <3

Alec’s eyes snapped open, his body jolted in alarm. 

All around him was quiet darkness, the middle of the night. He relaxed a little, slumping in the rumpled, generic hotel bedsheets. 

He pulled the covers away, dragging himself to the bathroom. The lights briefly stung his eyes, and the splash of cold water on his face awoke his sleepy senses. Staring back at his reflection Alec grimaced, remembering just where he would be heading in a matter of hours. 

Martin Whitly agreed to cooperate with the NYPD. But this time it was not under binding terms that concerned Malcolm Bright-at least no new terms that is that interfered with the father and son’s current arrangement.

This new condition however relied on Alec Hardy also cooperating with the NYPD, and soldiering through until the case was resolved.

Alec intended to leave only when the copycat killer was apprehended. But he didn’t expect nor want a dinner invitation.

He remembered how Miller pestered him into coming around she and Joe’s when he first arrived in Broadchurch. How it’s what people do having people they work with over and having discussions other than work. 

And a one on one discussion not about work with Martin was just what Hardy was concerned about. 

Never mind the fact that this would make Martin yet another person to complain how the detective absolutely refused to properly eat.

\--

Mr. David advised Alec about the rules once more, and seemed to behave as normal. It seemed that from observation neither the security guard or Malcolm had seen the over the line exchange between Martin and Alec. Which was how he wanted it to stay.

The large door was unlocked and swung open, allowing for the Scot to cross the threshold. With the advisory to tap on the glass should he wish to cut the visit short, Alec was left alone with only his resolve and a dark pair of eyes gleaming at him.

“Detective Hardy!” Martin clasped his hands overjoyed. “So glad you agreed to join me.”

Hardy’s infamous scowl came to play, “I agreed tae assist with tha police investigation by whatever means. Even if it means being strong armed to a meeting with a convicted killer.”

Martin gave a mockingly stern expression, “So serious. You really should see this as an opportunity Alec-“

“DI Hardy,”

“All about the formalities,” Martin leaned back in his chair, “I had hoped we were past that. At any rate come come then, Hardy.” 

The Scot did at least give him the benefit of taking a seat, his chair appropriately behind the red line. Alec took note, but did not acknowledge the small table with a warm plate laid out on it. 

The doctor turned murderer pouted, “Just going to let me eat alone? Not very proper manners for a guest I’ll say.”

Hardy continued staring the older man down, “I’d rather keep mae eyes fixed on you.”

Martin sighed over exasperated, “Oh very well.”

Unlike Alec, Martin did indulge in his rationed dinner. 

There was no obligation for Dr. Whitly to divulge any information he had on the second Surgeon copycat during these social calls. Detective Aroyo did strongly recommend Hardy attempt to pull out any additional intel he could wherever possible however. 

But Martin agreed to fully cooperate during the escorted visits with Malcolm and the police so long as these social calls with the Wessex detective remained. 

Both Aroyo and Malcolm were very forward in warning DI Hardy about the Surgeon and his mind games during these visits. Especially given the parameters of the arrangement that Hardy would attend these visits alone. But he knew, he could see the monster that dwelled in Martin’s eyes, the Surgeon that just itched for one more fix.

Strangely enough, Alec found something almost relaxing merely watching Martin eat despite his supposed disdain for the man. That alone seemed odd, throw in the fact that he was sitting across from a murderer and one that in the past had had the easiest means to kill him.

But it felt almost therapeutic, calming to just watch him like this. 

“I do wish you would at least try to eat Alec,” Martin swallowed, teasingly scolding the Scot. “Would be quite rude to be wasteful.”

“Not hungry.” Hardy grumbled.

“Oh do try better than that to fool me into thinking you haven’t been neglecting your body’s needs. I may not have been a dietitian, but I am familiar enough to know malnutrition when I see it. Really, it’s a wonder why your poor heart struggles.”

Martin took another bite of his meal, Alec continued to quietly sit and stare.

“And I suppose your sleep is no better, I would have thought that partner of yours would at least-“

“Don’t start on Miller, Martin.” Alec gritted, despising how much of his life back home this man knew about. 

He held his arms up in mock surrender, “I mean no offense at all. I just mean that if I were in her position as your right-hand detective, it would be in my best interest to make sure my partner is well taken care of.”

Ellie did comment how ‘grouchy and thin’ Hardy was, assuming he was always tired despite his protest. It annoyed him when people nitpicked on his health-true ducking out of hospital not twelve hours after his heart stopped was a little unorthodox, but it was for the sake of the case!

“You were a lot looser when we last shared a meal together if I recall.” Martin took a sip from the plastic cup of water “Still fussy when you actually do eat I imagine. You were even back then.”

Tess called him fussy, so did Daisy.

This unintentionally triggering Alec to groan with a whine, “I’m nawt!”

Martin gave a giddy smirk, “Only confirms my suspicions. I thought you were the one playing detective, Alec.”

“If you’re not one for dinner, I imagine dinner dates are not your strong suit. But I can understand being a single parent must play into that as well of course.”

Hardy was tight lipped, attempting to save face.

“Come come Hardy, this is a social call after all. And I’m merely curious if a lucky lady has managed to tie you down.”

Alec let out a long hard sigh. He knew better, he shouldn’t give him any leverage to use. But already Dr. Whitly knew about Ellie, he likely knew about Tess and seem to even know about Daisy. 

Only if Hardy cooperated would Whitly, so he would have to swallow his pride and do just that.

“Noot many dates no,” He exhaled. “Only a few Daisy looked into.”

“I see! So no Mrs waiting for your return. Or a Mr I’m not one to be prejudice.” 

“Neither.”

Martin made a gesture with his hand setting down the disposable fork on his now empty plate “And you and your detective friend… nothing there.”

It was a statement not a question, but Alec answered. “Purely professional.” 

The Surgeon dabbed at his mouth with the provided napkin. 

He sighed, “A shame you decide to let yourself go hungry, it was quite good.”

Hardy crossed his arms, “When I return with Bright, we will be expectin’ cooperation from yoo Martin.”

“I would expect no less. I could never deny you or my boy the time of the day!” The doctor leaned back in his seat with a content smile plastered on his face. “I’m quite glad you decided to take my advice.”

“I am only here to see this case through, noothin’ more than that.”

“Curious you say that, when while you’ve insisted I use your work credentials, you still use my first name addressing me.”

Hardy could feel his heart beating just a little faster in his chest, or was that just his panicked imagination? He could not let this man into him, not again. 

He almost didn’t notice Martin had risen from his chair and was walking toward his, only to be halted by the restraint with an annoying tug.

“Alec…” The Surgeon smiled, “I really have missed spending time with you. A shame this case will come to an end soon.”

The fact that Martin Whitly would rather a copycat killer remain at large so as he could continue social calls with Hardy did not escape the detective.

“We expect full cooperation.”

“And you shall have it! As I’ve said, a man of my word.”

Both men stood, only short inches apart. He was behind the red line but it felt as though the man could easily grab him and throw him into the wall. And a sickening feeling lurching in the detective’s gut that he wouldn’t stop the doctor if he did.

“Cross my heart…” Martin made a motion against his chest, mimicking the scarred incision Alec barred with the plastic knife, followed by a feigned throat slitting impression “And hope to die.”


End file.
